Pressure Point
by Mia-Teresa-Davenport
Summary: "You need to understand that I'm in here for a reason. I'm in here because I hit my pressure point and broke completely. I know that they are so, so dangerous now. Dangerous, like playing with fire." "What's so dangerous now, Adam?" "Pressure points." /Or/ everyone knows that pressure points can be a dangerous thing... / (MentallyInsane!Adam. Sequel to Breaking Point. OOC/AU)


Pressure Point.

Summary: "You need to understand that I'm in here for a reason. I'm in here because I hit my pressure point and broke completely. I know that they are so, so dangerous now. Dangerous, like playing with fire." "What's so dangerous now, Adam?" "Pressure points." /Or/ everyone knows that pressure points can be a dangerous thing... / (MentallyInsane!Adam. Sequel to Breaking Point. OOC/AU)

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><p><strong>Mia-Teresa-Davenport: Hey there, everyone! Due to popular demand once I asked by you all, I have decided to make a sequel to Breaking Point. Warning: this contains dark thoughts. Look at the warning in Breaking Point, the prequel to Pressure Point. It contains dark, angsty thoughts. This story is also OCC and AU, as explained in the summary up there. I don't own anything from Lab Rats, I just own the MentallyInsane!series, and anything else you don't recognize. Do you think I would be typing out this disclaimer if I did own Lab Rats? Nope. :3<strong>

**Chase, can you do the disclaimer if they haven't gotten that though their heads, please?**

**Chase: "Sure thing, Mia-Teresa-Davenport. Okay, here is the deal for you all. Mia-Teresa-Davenport doesn't own anything from Lab Rats you recognize. Just the plot, etc. Grab some tissues, because you might need them. Try to enjoy Pressure Points. So yeah, enjoy!"**

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><p>Oh, how blissfully <em><strong>innocent<strong>_ _they are_, sitting on those stupid white chairs that the Sanatarium provides for them with they visit him, him, _him_. He sees that their eyes are focused intently on him. Him, him, _him_, and only him. Sitting in front of him, him, _him_. **Him**, the boy with the broken, lifeless brown eyes. His eyes were once happy, but now he's a hollow shell of the man he used to be.

The seventeen year old boy sitting on that small white bed. His bed.

The seventeen year old boy locked up in the white room. His room.

The seventeen year old boy with the thick padlock on his chain-linked window.

The seventeen year old boy with the bionic signal interrupters in his room so he can't hurt anyone, not his family, not the people that work here. They are there so they can't hurt himself. Oh yes, himself most of all.

The seventeen year old boy wearing the white clothes.

The seventeen year old boy staring at the white wall.

The seventeen year old boy alone with his dark thoughts.

The broken former bionic boy, the seventeen year old boy who was once the strongest man in the world.

(How ironic, that statement. It's very ironic. He was strong. He broke.)

He's the strongest man in the world and he broke. Broke into pieces, broke hard, like glass being thrown on the floor with the force of the Hulk. Or Spike. Or him.

Whichever comes first. The Hulk, Spike, or him.

(He was once happy. Oh yes, he was very happy teenager, even. Now… Now he is nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. He's nothing now. Now, he's just waiting for anything, waiting for something, waiting for an end, waiting to slip into **oblivion**, waiting for God to take him away, waiting to _die.)_

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><p>He almost <strong>laughs<strong> at their expressions, laughs like he deserves to be _put down under lock and key_ (even more than now), laughs **_insanely_** at their tears that seem to come down in waves down their **_upset_** faces. He laughs _sickeningly_ at their **heartbreak.**

It's just so very **sickeningly **_funny _to him, like a game of catch or a tennis match that seems to go on and on forever, never ending. He watches with sickening **glee** as their eyes tear up and watch their shoulders shake from tears and hears them sob like **_wounded_** _**animals**_.

He hears them quietly **sob** into their pretty little hands and he actually _smiles_ a bit when their tears **roll**_ down_ their faces and onto the cold floor, the cement floor. Oh yes, he _smiles_ when he sees their hot, salty tears roll down their faces and onto the cold, smooth cement floor of his small white room.

And every single time Adam sees the tears roll down his family members faces and plop down onto the floor of his white room, he smiles.

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><p>So there's no time to <em>stop<em> and **wonder** about his sick habits of watching them- his family- **break down **after they tried being strong for so long. So, so long. They tried, oh how they **tried** to be strong, to stay strong, to be strong for _him_, and look where that made them land.

He had come to this conclusion a while ago that he is **mentally** sick after all. After the voices inside his head had died down for a single minute and a half, so he could actually _breathe_, he came to one single conclusion that makes the deadly, _scary_, **depressing, _manipulative_ **voices roar back to life in his head like a light switch flickering on and off and on again:

He is **mentally sick** after all.

Mentally _sick_.

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><p>They, his family members, try to talk to him, talk about the happier times he had with them, his <em>family<em>.

He, for one, has no idea what they're talking about. _Happy_ times? Like _what_? He can't think of anything good, can't search that far in his memory for anything good, can't find anything happy. There aren't in his memory bank, he can't remember anything happy. He can't recall them fully, can't seem to recall them from the depths of his mind. He searches the corners of his brain and tries to push back the thickening layers of dark thoughts that seem to grow in size every day he's been in this place.

He doesn't know what they're talking about. _Happy times?_ Oh please.

Oh, the only things he can think of are the bad times. Like that time when Adam saved Chase from his capsule after a stupid mistake he made. He could have _killed his baby brother_, and it would have been all his fault. All **his** _fault_.

He remembers time he burnt those cookies with his heat vision, and he was decked out in that silly red Santa suit and wearing that cozy red Santa hat and glancing down at the cookie tray and burning those cookies until they were nothing but fiery blackened scars on the bottom of the pan.

He remembers hearing the door open and seeing Chase wrapped up in those Christmas lights and hopping around like an idiot, obviously angry with Adam for sticking him up there. But it was for Santa.

(Okay, that one was funny, hilarious, even, where Chase was hopping up and down like a bunny rabbit on Uppers, but still. He saw the looks Tasha and Mr. Davenport exchanged when Adam told Chase to go back up to the roof. They weren't happy looks, either. That made Adam feel guilty, but it was hilarious all the same.)

The time Adam took a bullet for Bree without hesitating for a second.

Yep. That's right. Adam Charles Davenport took a bullet for Bree Rose Davenport after a terrorist had pointed the gun at her on a mission and pulled the trigger. The only thing that went though his mind was to _save Bree_, and he did. He jumped in front of her before anyone could react.

He winces and absently runs his hand through his black hair. Remembering that was painful. Literally. Having a bullet shot at you isn't fun. It's not a walk in the park or a stroll down a road. Nope. Not even close.

But he's glad he did that. He didn't have any regret jumping in front of her then, he still doesn't now. He saved his baby sister. Sure, it hurt a lot after, hurt a lot during everything that happened- because getting shot hurts a lot. It hurts like fire is scorching your skin and it makes it hard to breath- but it was worth it in the end. He doesn't regret it, doesn't regret jumping in front of her to save her life. Not for a second.

He stares at the white wall and gets lost in his dark thoughts, the only thing- besides his raven black hair and his dark brown eyes and his tan skin- that isn't white.

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><p>If he ever gets out of here, out of the Sanatarium, nothing will be the same.<p>

_Nothing will ever be the same._

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><p>So instead of voicing that thought, he stays here, sitting on his small white bed wearing his white patternless clothes in his small white room.<p>

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><p>He misses them terribly, he misses his family. It hurts like a black void in the center of his chest, in the center of his heart. He wants to go home, wants to go home to his family, but he can't. He knows that he can't. That could be bad.<p>

So Adam doesn't ask to go home. He stays here and stares at the white wall.

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><p>Chase comes into his room, right on time, like always. It's 8:55 PM. He thinks it's a Saturday. Yeah, a Saturday. It's a Saturday. It's very hard to remember what day it is when you've been in here for over five months. Yeah, it's defiantly a Saturday.<p>

Visiting hours start at eight o'clock am on the weekends and starts at 9:30 on the weekdays when everyone is at school, but Adam remembers that Chase doesn't get up until 8:00 am on the weekends. He gets up at seven thirty five on days where there is school. Adam lows that on weekends, Chase plays video games with Leo for about ten minutes and does his daily routine before he finally drives- yes, that's right, Chase got his drivers licenses and drives a car- to the Sanatarium to see Adam.

To see him.

Him, him, _him_.

To see Adam.

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><p>Chase has been visiting him for a long time now, over two months now. Adam has been in here for five months. This is his twenty-seventh time visiting him. Chase has been here a lot. This is his twenty-seventh time visiting him. Adam knows this. He's counted. He's counted for all of them, counted all the times he's been here.<p>

Chase has been here twenty-seven times. Bree has been here, visiting him, him, _him_, in his small white room for a while now. Just an hour ago, it was her thirty fifth visit. Thirty five times he's seen her, thirty five times she's seen him in here.

_Thirty five times._

It's been a month since he told her he hit his breaking point.

Oh yes, it has only been a single month since he told her that he hit his breaking point.

It feels like longer to him. A lot longer to him than it actually is.

According to Adam's mind, the only sane part of him is when he's counting how many times each family member has been here, visiting him, him, **_him_**, Mr. Davenport has been here nineteen times. Tasha has been here fifteen times. Douglas has also been in this Sanatarium, visiting him, him, him. Douglas has been here fourteen times. Leo has visited him in here seventeen times. Leo's visits are nice. He talks about Janelle a lot and Mr. Davenport's inventions and how he's doing right now and what they did in school today and what level he's on in a new video game and Leo actually smiles at him and Adam even smiles and talks back to his littlest brother with sincerity. His step-brother.

That's why he likes Leo. Because Leo doesn't treat him like he's _broken, _a_ broken toy _that can't be fixed, that can't be fixed because it's broken. He treats Adam like nothing had ever changed. But that's not the case for the rest of his family.

Chase slides into that God-forsaken white chair that is placed in front of Adam's small white bed, which he's occupying currently.

They sit in silence for a few seconds, and Chase finally speaks. It cuts through the thick silence that had enveloped the two of them like a blanket.

"Hello, Adam." With a hint of something close to shock, Adam realizes that Chase's voice sounds nervous, like he's ready to bolt out the door at the first signs of trouble. But Adam won't make trouble. He loves Chase too much to do that.

Besides, he doesn't want to scare Chase and his family members away if he throws a fit or something. That would be bad.

Adam licks his lips and stares directly into his little brother's hazel eyes with his own dead brown eyes. "Hello, Chasey."

Chase winces at the nickname, and a tiny hint, a ghost of smile crosses Adam's pink lips, but on the inside, he's frowning at himself. He made Chase wince. That should have done damage, and like he predicted, it did. It hurt him.

Adam feels a sick smile twist on his lips at Chase's hurt expression.

"How are you, _Chasey_?" He spits out Chasey because he feels like he should.

Chase winces. "I… I'm okay."

"Okay." Adam echoes, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "My baby brother is okay." He rolls his eyes and stares at Chase. "And how do you think I am?"

Chase flinches and swallows like he's been slapped in the face. "I… I'm not sure. How are you doing?"

Wow. Chase doesn't know the answer to a simple question. How sad.

"Take a look at my eyes, and you'll see how I'm doing, Chasey." Adam simply says, leaning forward and opening his eyes wide so Chase can see his eyes.

Chase looks for two seconds in his eyes and flinches away again immediately.

Adam leans back, feeling satisfied with Chase's answer, despite the fact that Chase didn't verbally say anything to him. He is satisfied with Chase's non-verbal answer.

"Now do you see how I'm doing?" He murmurs and leans back so he's on his back, resting his head on the white pillow.

Chase nods, but Adam can see the question he wants to ask. _Why? Why are you in here?_

He always says the same thing, over and over and over, like a broken record. _I hit my breaking point. I snapped. I hit my breaking point and broke. Do you know what it's like?_

He's prepared to say that, like he has been saying to his family members for over five months now, but he decides to change it up a bit.

He says in a dead voice, "You want to know why I'm in here." It's not a question. It's a statement. He knows the answer, so it's not a question.

When he sees Chase nods and hears him say a simple yes, he sits upright again, smoothing down his crisp white shirt so it is straight again. He takes a deep breath, mulls it over for a couple, maybe twenty, seconds, and answers the question in a detached voice:

"You need to understand that I'm in here for a reason. I'm in here because I hit my pressure point and broke completely. I know that they are so, so dangerous now. Dangerous, like playing with fire."

It's silent for a few seconds, blissful silence that makes Adam just a bit happier, and Adam waits for Chase to respond. He can see tears prick in Chase's eyes. Adam smiles again, feels the cracks of his lips turn upward into a small, **sick** smile.

"What's so dangerous now, Adam?" Oh yeah, Chase _totally_ wants to know the answer.

"Pressure points." He answers the question in a dead voice.

Chase frowns. "Pressure points?"

Adam nods. "Yes, pressure points. We all have them, you know."

His little brother's face turns serious, even more serious than he is now. "And you hit a pressure point."

Adam nods again. "Yes, I did. I hit a pressure point and broke. Like glass."

Now Chase nods. "Broken things can get fixed, Adam."

Adam shakes his head. "Sometimes. But I can't be fixed."

"Adam," he can tell Chase's dam of tears and self control broke, and Adam _smiles_ again, "we can help you. We can help you."

Adam shakes his head. "Chasey, you can't help me. No one can."

"Adam-" Chase begs.

"No." He answers in a cold voice, cutting Chase's pleas off. "No. I can't be fixed." It's silent for a few seconds. "I want you to leave, Chase." He says.

Chase frowns and his eyes fill with even more tears. A single tear falls out of his eye. "Adam, _please_-"

"Leave!" He shouts suddenly, scaring Chase. He jumps up from his chair, his eyes wide. Quickly, Chase wipes his eyes, trying to conceal the tears that run down his face, but Adam sees the tears.

Chase begins crying, sobbing, muttering that _it's not fair _and_ he just wants everything to go back to the way it was before _and_ he misses Adam. _He sobs that_ it is not fair, it is not fair, it is not fair, over and over and over again._

Now, _now_, Chase gets it.

"G-goodbye, A-Adam." Chase says through his tears.

"Goodbye, Chasey." Adam whispers, smiling sadly at his baby brother. "Goodbye."

Chase turns, glances at Adam again and turns and walks away, shutting the door behind him. Adam can hear him crying again.

With a single tear running down his face onto his small white bed, Adam smiles that sick, twisted smile.


End file.
